


One Thing at a Time

by ChiChiChib



Category: The Penumbra Podcast
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Angst, But that is impossible, I thought more angsty than the podcast, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, M/M, No Actual Drug Use Though, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-30
Updated: 2017-03-30
Packaged: 2018-10-13 00:18:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,113
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10502487
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChiChiChib/pseuds/ChiChiChib
Summary: Juno Steel, being his usual angsty self, is in a rut. He doesn't remember the last time he was sober, and it has nothing to do with handsome thieves before you say anything. It has nothing to do with the cologne he can always smell and dreams of silk kisses. He is just lying on the floor for the fun of it.All of this is fine until Juno notices a few things missing in his life...literally.





	

Juno Steel's apartment was a mess, to put it kindly. The furniture was well past their use-by dates, leaning towards the ‘dangerous to use’ category. Every surface covered with old takeout containers and envelopes painted red with the words "PAYMENT DUE" and "URGENT". There was enough crap to fill the local Hyperion city waste site if it wasn’t the main turf for every drug dealer on Mars. Maybe Juno could pay them a visit, who knows?

Sure enough, his apartment had never been show-home material. Not the type of building you would plaster onto a billboard, advertising to the poor suckers who still have hope for this city. And Juno knew this. He knew he was living in the definition of a shit hole, but that is life, isn’t it? No matter where Juno went, it would be a shit hole; especially if Juno Steel was the one living there.

So, how does our favorite Private Investigator fit into this health hazard of a building? Well, he would be lying face-first in the sofa cushions of his leather couch…if he had managed to land on it. Instead, he’s on the floor. The cramped space between the worn-down sofa and the chipped wooden coffee table was, as Juno had drunkenly decided, going to be the perfect bed for tonight. Though he had to admit, the carpet was less than pleasant; a constant scratching texture and…were carpets supposed to be moist? Well, if they weren’t, Juno Steel definitely wasn’t in the state to care. He doesn’t care about the carpet, or the table, or the sofa, or the takeout containers, or handsome thieves, or overdue bills, or how good this damn apartment is.

He sure as hell doesn’t care about any of it. None of it. At all.

…

So, maybe he is repressing a few things. Maybe a few million things. Maybe he has been drinking more than usual, remembering more things drunk than sober. Maybe he has noticed the worried glances Rita gives him during the commercials when he doesn’t even have the energy to complain about the noise or the electricity bill. And just maybe, he has been ignoring any cases about a thief and stolen priceless objects, that are far too close to his office than he would like.

Frustration fills Juno’s heavy body, clenched fists supporting a throbbing head. He can’t help but pity himself, thinking of looking down at the poor bastard that is Juno Steel right now. Self-pity turns to self-hatred and…well, that is just his way of life. And Juno Steel, Private Investigator, has the same thought he has had every night for the past year.

“Why didn’t I take him up on that stupid offer?”

An audible groan escaped his lips, as he sat up, knees up and arms slung on top of his legs; a non-specific acceptance of the daily routine. To drink until the pathetic feeling in his bones became unnoticeable. Juno looked around for the closest thing that hinted to alcohol, a small crate of capped glass bottles just over arm distance away. A present to Mick that he hasn’t been able to give, hasn’t visited in a while. Leaning over and grabbing one of the brown bottles, the liquid sloshing in a way that makes the stomach turn before you’ve even drunk it, he looks hazily for a bottle-opener. He usually kept one on the coffee table. In fact, he always did. This was his favorite drinking spot in the whole apartment; not including the shower, or the bed, or the porch on the outside of the building. But, after pushing case files and envelopes off the table, there was nothing else. No pens, no paper clips, no pins, and no bottle-opener. All the little things he had strewn about…he couldn’t find them.

Juno stood up and paced his apartment. He checked the closest shelf, previously as an organized area for his first few cases. Now, it is covered in random printed pages, describing statistics, people of importance, a list of umbrellas for that really weird case. And the stapler he kept with them was…gone. Something he used as a paper weight more than anything had just disappeared.

Checking the bedroom, a gray area in Juno’s life, looked more like a bad hotel room and hadn’t been properly used for weeks. He couldn’t bring himself to sleep alone in it and he didn’t deserve the company. The only surface worth searching was the draws next to his bed. So much was missing, Juno was kicking himself for not noticing until now. Tiny items you wouldn’t think too hard about if they went missing, especially if you’ve been in a drunken state for weeks at a time. The cap of his bottle of cologne. One of his favorite lipsticks. One of the cufflinks from his best suit. Just gone. What kind of P.I. was he if he couldn’t have noticed all this.

He kept investigating. Moving from the living room to the kitchen, Juno took more notice of the smaller things in his apartment. Objects he wouldn’t have a second thought about suddenly becoming his top priority. The box of matches in the cupboard; left unused along with the gas oven; only had one match left. A small notepad back from the early days of his career has had multiple pages torn out of it.

This was different, though. The last page of the notebook stood out compared to the other empty pages. In black ink, there was…well…Juno didn’t know what it was. It looked like a gun, maybe? No, a fish. But what was that in the corner of the page? A pelican?

To be honest, Juno had no idea what it was. But, then he did. He recognized exactly what this was. It was one of his drawings. The man who came into his life and wrecked any grip Juno had over it. The man who left his cologne lingering here like he was a cat claiming his turf. The man who looked at Juno in a way that made Juno feel like life was worth something, as long as he kept looking at him like that. The man, with a million names, ended up giving Juno only one name. Peter Nureyev.

Juno traced the drawing with his thumb, a smile creeping on his face without his permission. It had been months since he last saw Peter. Since he last ran away from him. And now…now, Juno felt the happiest he has been for a really long time. Because Peter Nureyev didn’t leave him.

“So, Juno, darling. Finally figured it out, I see.”

**Author's Note:**

> Hey everyone  
> Thank you for reading my first ever fic of one of my favorite podcasts  
> I hope to be writing another chapter for it soon  
> I really hoped you enjoyed it and let me know if you need anything  
> Lots of Love  
> ChiChiChib


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